


Bibbity-Bobbity Dude

by maybeillride



Series: Songfics [11]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Because hell yeah, Fluff, For the brilliant JemTheKingOfSass :), Gift Fic, Humor, M/M, Tasteful Smutty Notions, light feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 06:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: It's six months since Rin was stuck in the deepest pit of dissertation hell, and he's come out the other side with a workable draft, a newly energized outlook on life, and a head-over-heels relationship with Makoto. That also frees him up to turn his attentions to ensuring the romantic happiness of his friends. As one does.Inspired bySay goodnight and go. Reading that beforehand is appreciated but not at all mandatory!





	Bibbity-Bobbity Dude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JemTheKingOfSass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemTheKingOfSass/gifts).



> A thousand apologies for that title. Also, i'm completely not sorry. Aren't writers dicks?
> 
> For the lovely-in-every-way [JemTheKingOfSass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemTheKingOfSass/pseuds/JemTheKingOfSass), a VERY happy late birthday to you. Let's just say this is for your birthday season, shall we? (Psst, any kind soul who's wandered in here: CHECK HER FICS OUT if you haven't yet, ok? Her Rin makes my Rin ... well... just go read them. This has been an AO3 public service announcement.)

Rin flicks his eyes open to the darkly shadowed ceiling of their bedroom. By the finger of weak light pushing through the drapes, he guesses it’s maybe 6, with an hour before the sun is up. Best time of the day. It’s the feeling the entire world is asleep all around him and everything is slowed way down, and he has all the time he needs to think, to make his plans. He likes having to take extra care to be quiet, to be sure he doesn’t wake whoever happens to be around him.

It’s especially tricky to extract himself this morning. Makoto is somehow smooshed all along his side, his face buried in Rin’s hair, arm heavy over Rin’s stomach, knees bumped up like he’s trying to spoon in his unconscious state but has just ended up shoving habitual back-sleeper Rin halfway off the bed. He’s Makoto’s body-pillow, basically, which would be irritating if Makoto wasn’t so warm and soft. He’s a living down comforter.

Thankfully, Makoto is out like a dead lightbulb. Rin eases out of bed and replaces himself with a pillow under Makoto’s arm. He’s ridiculously proud when his Raiders of the Lost Ark deception works like a charm, Makoto rolling into the soft thing like a croc eating lunch. He leans over to where his phone is plugged in on the nightstand, and takes a few snaps of the shameless sight.

_Makoto has his cat photo addiction. I get to have my Makoto-photo addiction._

He pulls on his track pants in the living room, after opening the blinds for his habitual morning check of the street below. 6:00, there’s nothing much to see. A garbage truck trundles by and muffled by the thick panes of glass, the ungainly thing is almost graceful. The little houses and apartments squat in neat rows and while each one looks cozy and welcoming, none opens itself onto the street as fully as theirs’. Rin has had the privilege of seeing the world from both sides of this big window, and he thinks he understands why Makoto was so willing to provide the neighborhood with a free strip tease in this very room, all those months ago. There’s something about the warmth and safety of this place that makes him forget his usual impulse towards privacy. Whatever happens in here, why not share it out there?

Today, his running feet take him further and further, closer and closer into the city, until he finds himself at the Wadakura Fountain Park. With the sun peeking through the high buildings ringing the wide plaza, and the fountains’ overnight lights still glowing through the spray, it’s a magical time to be here. He lets himself sit on the stone ledge surrounding one of the wide pools, dangling his bare feet. The water is clear and bubbly from the jets, and _freezing_ , and it feels delicious tickling his soles.

…how did he end up here, in this spot so quietly perfect it’s almost a cliché? Rin had never taken the time to come here before. No out of town guests to impress, that’s part of it, for sure. But you shouldn’t need to entertain tourists to enjoy your city.

He thinks back to his life six months ago, and he can’t even recognize it. A change in venue is the most obvious difference. He moved in with Makoto on New Year’s – both laughing at and deadly serious about the symbolism.

But he has almost as much trouble remembering everything else about his days back then. Rin would’ve been as likely to take a trip to see these fountains as to ditch everything for the day and go to Tokyo Disneyland. Work wasn’t going to do itself, so while he suffered through his dissertation, he lived to work. That was it, waking up – at 9, 10, 11 – and forcing himself to sit, in front of his screen, or his pile of books, or his stack of photocopies. Just sitting, alone, beating his head against the metaphoric wall.

That is, until the night he happened into ( _their_ ) coffeeshop. Until he met Makoto, who had an uncanny ability to bounce ideas around with him. It was almost embarrassing how much easier it was to climb out of the conceptual hole he was stuck in, with Makoto reaching down to give him a hand. It turned out, Makoto had had more than his share of defeat, at school where his grades never reflected just how smart he was, as he struggled after losing his job. Rin still doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to keep his shit together after a year out of work. But here Makoto was, caring about this total stranger who blundered into his life and – somehow – became a regular fixture of it. If Makoto could show him such care and kindness at his absolute lowest, when Makoto himself was struggling, Rin started to realize how much such kindness could mean to anyone in a similar spot.

It didn’t take Rin long to finish his dissertation after that. In fact, his advisor just blinked in disbelief when he showed up at her office door, fat first draft in hand. It had only been a few months since she gently suggested he get out of his apartment and try writing someplace else for a change. Violating all appropriate student-teacher protocol, Rin allowed her to deposit the stack of papers on her desk, then grabbed her in a hug. He couldn’t help himself.

It’s his turn to pay it forward, finally. He’s been spoiling Makoto rotten any way he can think of, especially as things have really started heating up with Makoto’s new job at the Red Cross. It turns out, being the HR director of a major charitable nonprofit is… really, _really_ hard, to put it very fucking lightly. Makoto sometimes doesn’t make it home until long past dinner, and on these days Rin insists he shove something in his face before collapsing, even if it’s just Cup Noodles. On other days Rin plays interrogator to get Makoto to drop things that are clearly bugging him… and at the same time, if his man just needs to put something dumb on and laugh to relieve his tension, Rin has learned to back off. On those nights, he sometimes slips out to see Gou. Makoto’s favorite, he knows, is when Rin flops next to him on their lopsided couch, bearing a big bowl of popcorn and ready to spend the evening snarking away.

The trip back to the apartment feels like it takes twice as long as the trip out, especially with the cooldown. He’s greeted at the door by Sneaker, who blinks up at him with the stoned eyes of the just-awakened and immediately meows for food. Rin scoops some tuna onto a dish for the ecstatic cat and grabs a banana. He’s so hungry that it’s gone by the time he reaches the bathroom.

He leans against the tiled wall, the warm water working into his stiff shoulders like tiny fingers. It feels so good, just existing, imagining his thoughts from the fountain are washing down the drain with the water. He’s always carried a world’s worth of tension in his shoulders, partly because of biology, partly psychology. When things were at their worst he walked around like Frankenstein’s monster. It was a good look on him and the headaches were a treat, too.

Makoto finds him in the living room not long after his shower, wrapped up cozy in his black robe with his hair in a towel turban. The cat barely acknowledges Makoto’s presence from her spot nestled in Rin’s lap. Apparently eating the tuna was exhausting.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he smiles to Rin, leaning over for a sideways kiss. Rin rolls his eyes but smiles back after their lips part with a smack.

“Hey. Sorry I woke you up! I was sure I was being quiet. I blame the cat.”

“I blame the shower.”

Rin frowns. “Sorry… you did NOT want to smell me after that run…”

Makoto reaches down and scoops the cat off Rin’s lap. She’s asleep so hard he deposits her on the ground in a Daliesque cat puddle. 

“No, it was the thought of you in the shower that got me out of bed. No way I was going back to sleep after that.” Makoto eases himself onto the couch next to Rin as he delivers his pickup line, pressing so close against Rin’s side he’s practically climbing in his lap. Like the cat. Rin snickers.

“You are So Cheesy, my man. I think I heard that in a porno once.”

“I think you saw THIS in a porno,” Makoto fires back, then turns Rin’s face with a finger, delivering Rin’s lips to his own in a trick of timing Rin would love to admire. Instead, he’s losing his balance and falling backward into the waiting couch cushions, Makoto falling after him.

“Are you okay??” Makoto manages as soon as he’s able to get onto his elbows. Sure, Rin’s brain is a little jogged where their foreheads knocked each other. He also bit his lip, which makes the pain in his head feel like a party. Stupid fucking teeth…

“Jus’ my li’,” Rin lisps. “I’s noffing…”

Then, Makoto is leaning down (much more carefully, thank God). He’s taking Rin’s face in his oversized hands, smoothing his cheekbones with his thumbs. And he’s sucking Rin’s lower lip into his mouth, gently. Rin has no idea if it helps the pain or if it’s even a smart thing to do, but damn if it isn’t distracting.

He worms his hands out to wrap around Makoto’s broad shoulders, hot under his soft flannel shirt. He loves this, loves to touch him as often as he can get away with it. He doesn’t know why this happens to be his particular kink. Maybe his body just needs to prove Makoto is real, once in a while. He lets his fingertips wander, lazy and curious, as if they don’t already know everything they’re feeling. 

Makoto sighs into his mouth and Rin pulls back just enough to smile against his lips. He feels Makoto smile back.

“I’m much better, thanks,” Rin informs him. “You teach that at the Red Cross?”

“Nah. This is a special curriculum. Just for you.” Makoto’s words are muffled one by one between a series of soft kisses, drawing a very specific line down the tendon in Rin’s neck that always pops when he’s pissed off. Makoto calls it his “nope rope.” This generally doesn’t help to calm him down but has managed to stick with him, so point to Makoto, he guesses.

And Makoto’s lips are so hot against his neck – or his neck is so hot against Makoto, maybe – and Rin shifts his hips up and where there may have been room between them, now there’s only heat.

“I think I know what else is just for me,” Rin murmurs, fast, turning so they’re forehead to forehead, lips to lips again. Fast, so he doesn’t have to reflect on what a cheeseball he’s become. But also, out of some immature, superstitious fear. If he says it, is he tempting fate to lose it?

Thankfully Makoto doesn’t bother to answer him. Verbally, anyway. He just makes a “hmmm” sound, deep in his throat, like Rin just made a great point and he’s conceding an argument. Rin can only grin in response. And divest Makoto of that damn shirt as fast as he can.

And feel his back arch, fully on its own with nothing he can do about it.

And bite his lip against a moan he could never hope to contain.

*

Rin insists on holding the door for Makoto when they get to the coffeeshop, two orgasms, one co-shower, one more orgasm and one train ride later. He’s proud when Makoto barely puts up a fuss and files right in, although it’s entirely possible he’s just that hungry.

His eyes are immediately drawn like a compass needle to their usual spot (very back and on the right of the long, rectangular, sun- and people-filled space). This morning, the little edge of anticipation he’s built during their train ride cracks and falls.

“No Haru,” Makoto narrates. By his slight hangdog expression Rin sees he isn’t alone in his (childish?) hope they could share the morning with their friend. But –

“Eh, wait a second.” Rin rubs his forehead, like that will magically improve his recall. “Didn’t he say he has something on Saturdays?”

Makoto frowns at him. “Not that I know of, unless he just told you.”

Rin frowns back, hand still steepled on his forehead. He hates these tip of the tongue (top of the cerebellum?) things…

“Yoga class,” a voice rumbles from the counter.

“Huh?” Rin says, eloquently.

“Yoga class,” the barista repeats. He’s midway through cutting an industrial-size pan of brownies, and pulls his knife out to point at the bulletin board behind them. The gooey fudge on the knife somehow doesn’t lessen the vaguely threatening gesture.

“Huh,” Rin says again, blinking at the huge, gym-rat looking guy. The guy gazes back neutrally. Makoto has already found the flyer in question, which must have entered Rin’s consciousness via osmosis on his way out the door at some point.

“’Free yoga. All levels welcome. Saturday mornings. Yoyogi Park.’” Rin looks back to see him smiling crookedly as he reads. “I guess the ‘free’ part is particularly important. ‘I cannot stress enough that this is a place to come and be FREE to enjoy our bodies and each other, with no rules or expectations or judgment.’”

“Or specific start times,” the barista says, with a look that suggests “no judgment” is NOT his jam.

“’Look for Haru,’” Makoto finishes, then shrugs and shuffles up to wrap an arm around Rin’s waist.

“God. The things I could teach that boy about self promotion,” Rin moans. “’Look for Haru’??? That’s it? No photo, nothing?? When he has that to work with? Criminal.”

And then he has to stop, as he’s suddenly, unexpectedly overtaken by a wave of irritation. Here’s this barista, who doesn’t know them from Adam and Adam. But this random guy had to clue them in about Haru’s flyer, which was more than _Haru_ saw fit to do for his friends.

“So I’m sorry we’ve never met,” Rin says decisively. He sticks his hand out over the counter, big and bold. The giant guy glances down at Rin’s hand, glances back up, and raises one eyebrow so discretely, Rin might be imagining it. It’s an economy of movement he’s never possessed in his life and it’s a thing of beauty, in its own stoic alpha-male way.

“Matsuoka Rin. This beautiful hunk of man-meat here is Tachibana Makoto.” Thank Christ, the oversized guy has finally decided to play along and has grabbed his hand, giving it a shake far less… crushing than he would guess just based on appearances.

“Man-meat, eh?” He grins crookedly at Makoto in a conspiratorial way. “So, is he your boyfriend or agent?”

“Both, some days,” Makoto laughs back, and Rin wants to be mad at how he’s neatly become the shared butt of their joke, but is equally neatly distracted by how good the two dudes look shaking hands. Complementary. “Please, call me Makoto. And you are?”

“Sousuke. I’m pouring your coffee, that’s all you should have to memorize about me. What can I get you?”

Makoto’s eyes drop immediately to the pan on the counter, but being reliably Makoto, he waves his hand to Rin in an “after you” gesture.

“I’m feeling a double espresso. And I can’t say no to one of those brownies. Could I have one of the corner pieces, please?”

“Corners are the best,” the big man confirms as he makes a little show of twirling his spatula like a teppanyaki chef, before dishing out Rin’s treat. “And for you?”

“Two of those, please,” Makoto says immediately.

“With a large mocha,” Sousuke guesses, making Rin snicker.

“You know me so well! Clearly this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Makoto laughs too. He turns to lean sideways into the counter as their new friend fills their order. Rin’s eyes track, casual and quick, over Makoto’s crossed arms, his long fingers feathered over the tart curve of his bicep, and down, to the way his hip juts out to rest against the counter, curves meeting sharp angles meeting immovable objects… And his mind wonders how long it’s been since he’s had _that_ pressed up against the bathroom countertop, and his mouth suddenly waters like he’s anticipating a great meal. A steak dinner, maybe.

“So, Sousuke,” he starts, after clearing his throat. “How the hell is it that we haven’t met you before?? When Makoto and I practically live here. On the weekends, anyway.”

Sousuke appears expertly cradling Rin’s demi-tasse cup and saucer in one massive hand, Makoto’s giant mug of sugar in the other. He gingerly lowers them to the counter to join their brownie slabs. “Well, there’s your answer. I haven’t worked a weekend here in I can’t remember how long.” Rin hands over his debit card before Makoto has a chance, getting a mock-murderous glare back. But he lets it pass; Makoto may make the relative big bucks at the moment, but he also knows what a shit fit Rin will throw if he isn’t allowed to pick up his share of the costs. Even if they ARE small potatoes like today.

And then their cozily-building little back-and-forth hits its first roadblock – there’s a polite cough behind them, and Rin glances back in surprise at a woman with a stroller, and a wizened old couple, and a whole fleet of sweaty folks in matching bike unitards who are chattering at each other on an endorphin high, like a flock of sparrows. Rin glances back and is amazed and amused at Sousuke’s utter lack of rush to do his job, basically.

“We’ll let you get to it!” Makoto exclaims as he and Rin tag-team to clear the deck.

“I’ll come over on my break,” Sousuke says, _actually making a finger gun at them_ like a total dork.

Sousuke is a man of his word. Rin and Makoto lose track of time playing some card game from the shop’s bookcase (that’s apparently for ages 5+ and requires them to make animal noises at each other, but Rin refuses to feel shame about something this fun). Before they know it, there’s a solid presence in their periphery and Sousuke is joining them. He flicks his chin at the splatter of cards on the table. Defiantly prideful feelings aside, Rin reaches out in vain to hide the cards with their bright cartoon drawings of pigs and cows and goats.

“Deal me in. I’m feeling lucky.”

Makoto lets out his pretty laugh and Rin envies his flawless people skills for the 972nd time. “I don’t know, Sousuke. How much do you know about farm animals?”

Sousuke’s silence is long enough to get Rin folding over the table, wheezing with laughter. When he sits back up he’s startled to see a familiar figure silhouetted in the café door.

It’s all that espresso, he rationalizes halfway across the room, just before his body crashes into the kind of hug he knows Haru can’t stand. Rin was the kind of kid who would spend the first 15 minutes of every car trip poking Gou in all the places he’d memorized to be the most-irritating, after all. (She deserved it. Anyone who would force him to be the DOG when they would play House, for the love of God, clearly had a sadistic streak that needed swift retribution.)

“Hey! Took you long enough,” Rin growls right in Haru’s ear, giving him a last squeeze before finally letting him go. Haru squints back at him, the line of his mouth suspiciously straight. “So you’re teaching yoga now? Holy shit, Haru. I didn’t know you knew how to do that? Is there anything you can’t do?”

Haru rolls his eyes. “A LOT of things. And I’m not a teacher. I couldn’t teach if you put a gun to my head.” He finally lets the threatened smile out, just a tiny bit, and Rin smiles back. “Hi. Long time no see. You here with Makoto?”

Rin grabs him around the shoulders – force of habit – as he walks them to their usual table. “But of course. Sorry, though. You’re gonna have to people with a stranger. We’re hanging out with the barista now, for some reason? He’s kinda a dude-bro but we all have our shortcomings, right?”

“You’re kinda a dude-bro,” Haru observes.

“Who’s a dude-bro?” Makoto asks as they pull up to the table. Sousuke has taken Rin’s spot and they are, perfectly appropriately, playing the farm animal game.

“I’m thinking he was probably talking about me. Best guess,” Sousuke says absently, laser-focused, apparently, on his hand. “C’mon Makoto, head in the game!”

“Right,” Makoto mutters, then, “Moo!” as he slaps a card on the table, decorated with a lipstick-wearing heifer.

Haru slides serenely into the empty chair next to Sousuke, a sketchpad suddenly propped in his lap and showing no indication that he’s fazed by the kindergarten level chaos around him. Rin plops next to Makoto who deals him in without having to be asked.

An hour later, Sousuke’s fellow barista has wandered by for a third time and even Rin is a little concerned for his employment prospects. Apparently, the guy really, really likes a little healthy competition and they can’t end until he breaks their three-way tie. In his favor. To be fair, Rin secretly suspects Makoto is holding back; in a struggle to the death, he would bet on Makoto anytime. He’s that special sauce combination of stubborn and stealthy; Rin could write a whole manuscript on it for some journal of sports management, but _he doesn’t have to do another paper as long as he lives._

Dominance asserted, Sousuke finally gets to his feet, throwing his hand down decisively. His coworker sighs in relief and heads back around the counter.

“King of the beasts,” Makoto laughs, gathering the cards together. “So when’s the rematch?”

“Next time we’re making Haru play,” Rin realizes. Haru hadn’t said one word, just sat there watching them and busily sketching like a creepy court reporter. Or artist, in this case. No way he’s gonna get away with that next time. “Hey, let’s see!”

To his pleased surprise, Haru turns the pad without complaint. He’s drawn – yes – a cartoon farm scene, a ridiculously Western fantasy of grain silos and picket fences and a big shiny sun. Rin blinks. He’s added the three of them in the barnyard as farm animals. There’s Makoto as a dog – a golden retriever? – and Sousuke hanging his giant horse head over the fence. Rin, in Haru’s fantasy land, is a goat with a bell hanging around his neck.

“That’s so you, oh my _God_ ,” Sousuke wheezes. “You are SUCH a goat, Rin.”

“How the hell do you know? Do you know me? I think not,” Rin huffs, although to be fair he isn’t sure there’s anything inherently insulting about goats. “And hey. Haru put himself in as the farmer!”

Now they all blink at the surreal image of Haru, leaning on a pitchfork in a pair of overalls with a straw hat on his head, a benevolent lord over them all.

“That’s… kinda kinky, Haru,” Sousuke says. He’s stroking his chin like an art dealer pricing out a new arrival. Rin frowns at him.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you get to be the horse. I _mean_.”

Makoto smiles indulgently at him. “I’m sure Haru would be happy to draw you as whatever you want. You just have to ask.”

Sousuke stalks back behind the counter. “Be careful what you wish for,” he laughs as he passes his apron over his head. “Hey, thanks for the good time, gentlemen. It’s been real.”

*

“We have to get them together,” Rin declares that evening, sitting decisively up from the embrace of both Makoto and their slouchy sofa. The thought comes to him with such certainty, he’s vaguely embarrassed to find himself pointing a finger into the air too, like a cartoon character.

He scoots back into his spot, cozied-up against Makoto’s arm with their legs stretched long side-by-side on the coffee table. They’re watching the latest Bond movie and, privately, Rin is convinced Makoto would make a fantastic 007. He checks all the physical boxes of course – tall, handsome, ripped – but it’s the people skills, again, that have his perpetual inner casting director on fire. He’d hardly have to use his gun, really. And Rin can only imagine the trail of Bond Girls and Boys he’d leave in his wake.

“Haru and Sousuke,” Makoto confirms. The expression on his face shows zero surprise, like they’ve been in a long and detailed conversation on the subject and not halfway through an action movie, a sausage pizza, and a six pack of beer.

Rin hits pause mid-explosion and Makoto sighs, discretely.

“They’re meant for each other. It’s meant to be.”

“Okay,” Makoto says, exceedingly neutrally. “You know, what do we even know about Sousuke?”

Rin opens his mouth to retort, then closes it. He tries again. “He’s… a smart ass. Lazy. But also a perfectionist, apparently?” The words come quicker as he warms up to his subject. “A little intimidating. Awkward. Hot. _Hotttt_. Let’s not beat around the bush, here. You don’t need to do a compatibility questionnaire when you have all that HOT going for you.” He leans in to poke Makoto in the left pec, apparently a little on the too-hard side given the way he winces. Rin rubs the spot in absentminded apology, intent on finishing his mission statement.

“Now, tell me. Who could I be describing? Eh? You can’t tell, can you. These guys were practically separated at birth. Meant to be.” He snaps the movie back on in a I-rest-my-case gesture.

“So,” Makoto says slowly, staring at Rin intently. “Do you think that’s the key to compatibility? Having similar personalities?”

Rin blinks back. On screen, someone is screaming in what sound like some pretty horrific death throes, but he hardly notices.

“I’m not sure,” he finally answers. “I think it depends? Look at us.” Makoto, reliably, takes the cheesy-joke bait and gives him a head-to-toe once over.

“…thank you. But seriously. I don’t think we’re terribly alike…? You could make friends with a serial killer. You’re legitimately one of the nicest people in the world. I’m… not.”

Makoto doesn’t let the paint dry on his comment. “Permission to call bullshit?”

“I dunno, permission pending?” Rin shoots back habitually. He grabs another slice of pizza to give his hands and his mouth something to do, a reliable distraction from the tickle of tears behind his eyes.

Makoto squeezes his big hand around his shoulder. “I don’t know anyone who shows love as easily as you. If you love someone, you let them know, and there’s nothing that can give someone more happiness than that.”

They meet eyes, Makoto’s softening with the same tears Rin was so reluctant to acknowledge. Rin hurriedly swallows his mouthful and tosses the slice back in the general direction of the pizza box.

“How is it that you always know what to say?” he demands, then, “Never mind,” as he presses Makoto insistently into the cushions.

*

It’s confusingly challenging to arrange the game night at their place. With Makoto’s brutal 8-to-8 weekday schedule, it’s a Saturday night or nothing. Thankfully, Rin poses no conflicts, given that he’s not just between jobs but between life stages.

Rin gets a chance to talk to Sousuke about it on Sunday, when the one person he keeps in touch with from his program wants to get together to work on their stuff and Rin suggests they meet at the coffeeshop. His mind still can’t comprehend the alternate universe he’s in, that he’s somehow made it to the fabled (though deceptively long) “make whatever edits his committee wants” stage. Kisumi – poor, doomed Kisumi – made the early mistake of designing a survey for his dissertation, and he’s been mired in logistic and bureaucratic delays for months. On the upshot, at least he’s getting to meet people, which is definitely his particular happy place.

Rin finally is able to extract himself from their table after he’s sure Kisumi is happily ensconced and plied with sugar and caffeine. He gives Sousuke a flick of his chin as he approaches the counter. Then, something compels him to reach over for a fist bump. Maybe it’s the whole ill-fated dude-bro conversation from yesterday. Sousuke gently knocks his knuckles into Rin’s without comment, a smile on his face.

“Hey. Back here two days in a row. I should start a Frequent Flyers punch card for you.”

Rin groans. “God, I used to LIVE here, why did I never have one of those?? Auggghh… I could’ve probably saved enough to buy a car.”

Sousuke snaps a dishtowel down on the counter like he’s in a locker room and it’s some unfortunate dude’s bare ass. “I’m full of shit. There is no punch card. You’re fine.”

Rin reaches over and gives him a light shove on one shoulder. “Damn. You have the poker face of a serial killer. You better be careful with that.” Sousuke plays along, pulling the butcher knife from yesterday out from somewhere and just holding it up with a blank expression, not letting up until he gets Rin to cringe and laugh.

“Okay, okay. So speaking of poker. I’ve been given the task of finding out if you’d wanna come to a game night? It’d be over at me and Makoto’s on a Saturday and Haru will be there too. Ya know, since yesterday’s was such a roaring success,” Rin finishes his pitch, injecting as much (sports) psychology in as he can and praying Haru actually WILL be there. Be the change you want to see in the world, and all that, he figures.

Sousuke frowns, but it seems like he’s thinking and not pissed off. Rin hopes. “Hmmm. That’s gonna be a little tough… I work at my cousin’s restaurant when I’m not here. Plus, I’m doing an online program which sucks up a lot of my free time.” He looks off into space like he’s in the middle of some ridiculously complicated mental math problem.

“Oh! Cool, what’s your area of study?” Rin asks immediately, the question that used to give him instant heartburn so much less threatening now.

“Criminal justice,” Sousuke says absently, which surprises Rin not at all. Then he comes back from wherever he was and makes eye contact with Rin again. “Two weeks. I can make it in two weeks. I just have to switch out shifts with my other cousin and that should be fine. She owes me, she can work a Saturday night for once.”

Rin blinks. “Jesus, how did you do that? Don’t you use a phone?”

“Not if I can help it,” Sousuke says with a look on his face like someone just made him lick the doorknob of a public bathroom. Rin blinks some more.

“…oookay. So, block that out. Or, pencil it in, you Luddite. Two weeks. Be here or be square,” he finishes lamely, printing their address on the back of a flyer for some upcoming poetry slam thing. Sousuke folds it half, then quarters, then sixths and Rin leaves the counter, shaking his head.

Kisumi is singing “Firework” at him when he heads over to the table. Loudly.

Conveniently, they’re still slouched at the table mired in their respective spheres of pain, kicking each other periodically just to stay focused, when Haru happens to swan in and hover over them like the Angel of Death.

“You’re in my spot,” is what gets Rin making a tiny child-sized scream, leaping upright in his chair to meet eyes with his excessively pretty friend. Haru seems unconcerned with the possible cardiac harm he’s done, standing patiently with one hand on the strap of his messenger bag. He has absolutely nothing from the coffeeshop in his other hand – no mug, nothing – which makes Rin wonder for a second if he’s EVER seen Haru actually willingly consuming anything here, despite being as much a fixture as the art on the walls or the Latin jazz over the sound system.

Kisumi is taking this opportunity for a break too, looking Haru over with a practiced yet appreciative eye. Rin groans internally.

“Please, join us,” his smooth as butter classmate offers, pulling out the seat next to him and patting the back of it invitingly. Haru appraises him for a second before gliding around to sit next to Rin instead. Rin suppresses a laugh at Kisumi’s half offended, half intrigued expression.

“So, who are you?” Haru immediately demands and Rin almost spits his coffee across the table.

“Well hello to you, too,” Kisumi flat out coos, and the warning bells in Rin’s mind crank up a notch. Even with Haru’s surprising lack-of-charm offensive, this could all go south very quickly in a way he didn’t plan for but now is kicking himself for not anticipating. It’s not that Kisumi’s a bad guy; not at all. He’s just… not who Rin has in mind for Haru’s eventual happily ever after. If that makes him a pushy bitch, so be it.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” Rin politely demands, with a firm grip on Haru’s upper arm to ensure compliance. He doesn’t bother to wait for a reply before he’s marching them to the men’s room.

“What’s up with you?” Haru asks as soon as the door bangs shut behind them. Rin grabs him by the shoulders to be sure the importance of his message gets across. Haru bats his hands away reflexively.

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this. But I beg of you, don’t start anything with Kisumi. Just… trust me.”

“Is something up with you and Makoto?” is Haru’s immediate conclusion and Rin is startled – and a little touched. He had this all wrong.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to freak out on you. Makoto and I are fine, don’t worry. I just wanted to ask you to a game night at our place and felt shitty doing that in front of Kisumi,” he finishes, lamely, realizing only when he’s at the end how impossible it would be for anyone to follow the conversational logic of the last five minutes, if he can hardly manage to.

Haru cocks his head. “So… why do I have to stay away from this guy? And why did we have to have this conversation in the bathroom?”

“Why not?” he says nonsensically, then grabs Haru’s shoulders again – much more gently this time – to be sure he gets his point across. This time, Haru lets him. He takes it as a good sign. “Like I said, trust me. He’s a good guy but he’s not the one for you.”

“’Not the one for me,’” Haru parrots word-for-word like he’s learning an English phrase phonetically. Rin sweeps him back on point. Hopefully.

“So, you free to come play games with us? Say, Saturday night, the 16th? Please say you’re free. We need someone there to document the event.”

“Who’s we?” Haru continues doggedly, and Rin sends up a split second prayer before taking the plunge.

“You, me, Makoto… and Sousuke.”

Haru blinks – slowly, like a cat – and smiles. “That was fun yesterday, huh.”

Rin feels like going back to church again after all. “Yes! Totally! I haven’t had so much fun since… well, since you started hanging out with me and Makoto,” he says, feeling himself blush and not even minding.

Haru reaches a hand up and pats Rin’s cheek, like you’d do to a kid. “Saturday the 16th sounds great. I just have to check my busy social calendar.” He stares blankly into space and Rin finally gathers that he’s making a joke.

He’s so relieved that things are (almost) over the way he hoped, he scoots his hands from Haru’s bony shoulders around his back and gives him a hug. “It’s okay, Sunshine. Your social calendar’s about to get a lot more interesting, I think.”

Haru’s still laughing when they make it back to their table. Kisumi is scrolling on his phone but slides it away politely as soon as he glances up. Rin plops into his chair and is taken aback when Haru claims the chair next to Kisumi, turning to him with purpose.

“So, I apologize for my rudeness before. I didn’t understand what was going on,” Haru begins, his usual lack of inflection giving his already formal words an amount of gravitas totally out of proportion to the situation. “I’m also sorry to say I’m not available. If you were asking. I’m not totally sure.” He shifts in his chair. “I’m not very good at this.”

Rin takes in the glorious spectacle before him. His two odd-couple friends stare at each other for a few moments before Kisumi makes his attack.

“You, are _adorable_ ,” he gushes, throwing a long arm around Haru’s shoulders so effusively he makes Rin look like a prude. Haru lets him, displaying a shocking level of diplomacy. “Rin, introduce us before I go out of my mind with curiosity.”

Rin grins. “Kisumi, Haru. Haru, Kisumi. Play nice, you two.”

*

Rin is deeply gratified that, for once, it’s Makoto who’s flailing around on Saturday, picking things up and getting halfway into a room before putting them down and launching off on a totally different misguided task. For instance, Rin hears heavy footfalls behind him as he stands in the kitchen prepping the beef and shrimp and veg for their shabu shabu. When they pause right behind him, exactly like the murderer in a slasher movie, Rin peeks over his shoulder to find Makoto standing in confusion like someone just hit his reset button. He’s holding a pair of tiki torches in one hand.

“Where’d you get those? And what the hell are you planning to do with them?”

“I thought I’d put ‘em outside…” Makoto trails off, frowning. “On either side of the door. Sorta make things more festive.”

Rin’s eyes pop. “Yeah. And burn the complex down, no doubt. Here.” He turns around properly and gently takes the torches away from Makoto before anything violent can happen. He’s relieved when Makoto lets go without argument. Dumping them temporarily in the corner, Rin turns back to wrap his arms around Makoto’s lower back.

“It’s gonna be awesome. We’re all gonna have a great time. And hey, if we played our cards right, this night will be the butterfly flapping its wings in Hong Kong that causes the tsunami in… Haru’s pants. Or something.”

“That.” He feels Makoto shudder under his fingertips. “Please promise you’ll never use the words ‘tsunami’ and ‘Haru’s pants’ in the same sentence. Ever again.”

“I can make no promises,” Rin says honestly. Instead, he reaches up the slight but necessary distance between them and lays a soft, fond kiss on Makoto’s lips, already half-open about to protest yet again. He feels them relax into a smile and then Makoto is kissing him back, a string of little pecks that get Rin smiling too.

“We’re good, Makoto. Why don’t you just go hang out in the living room?”

“…can I help with anything?” they hear from the living room before Makoto even has a chance to move, and Rin and Makoto stare at each other in disorientation before simultaneously realizing, “Haru.” No doorbell for this man. Rin isn’t even sure how he got in for a second before remembering that he has a set of keys, for the rare times when they’ve gotten a chance to escape Tokyo and needed a sitter for Sneaker. To the best of his knowledge, Haru hasn’t used their keys for any other purpose. He hopes.

A much lighter creak of the floorboards and Haru has joined them in the kitchen, with the cat draped comfortably over one arm like a napping jaguar, legs and tail hanging down. She’s in such ecstasy to be reunited with her mysteriously favorite person, she doesn’t even bother to open her eyes and see all the dead things she could be jumping on the counter and eating.

“Hey. I brought D&D. I know you claim it’s dumb but that’s just because you’ve never tried it.”

Rin scoffs as he prepares to launch into a very familiar exchange at this point. “Okay, I know I’m a nerd but I’m not fourteen and I draw the line at _role play_.”

“That’s not what Makoto tells me,” Haru observes. “Something about a… teacher and schoolboy scenario?”

Rin isn’t sure why it’s Haru he chases at that point, when to be fair it’s Makoto who’s apparently spilling their bedroom secrets to their little buddy. But there isn’t time to overanalyze the situation, Haru tossing the cat in a neat arc over their heads for Makoto to catch, then darting away like the Flash with a speed Rin thought was against his personal religion.

He makes it as far as their bedroom, bouncing once to clear the bed and edge out the door just out of reach, but when they hit the open space of the living room Rin’s finally able to tackle him around the waist. They tumble to the floor and Rin hardly thinks to do a welfare check before he’s mercilessly tickling the _shit_ out of him, trapping Haru’s arms at his sides as he straddles Haru’s torso and digs into any part of Haru he can reach. Haru’s attempts to kick Rin in the head are vastly diminished by his wheezing giggles, which are goddamn adorable, and so are the grin splitting his face and the helpless tears squeezing down his bright red cheeks.

“St… stop… stop. Pl-please. I’m gonna pee my pants. Please,” he begs and Rin has mercy, sitting back on Haru’s legs. They both have to take a few long moments to wipe the laugh-tears off their faces and just breathe, which is when Rin finally notices Sousuke, standing next to Makoto over them and both of them so tall he thinks he’s in a kindergarten flashback, for a second. Their identical crossed arms and serious expressions fit the bill, too.

“So we’re having a tickle party. Gonna be honest, I didn’t see that one coming,” Sousuke says to Makoto, neither of them looking away from the apparent sexy car-crash that is Rin and Haru. Makoto nods, gravely. “I should warn you all though, I’m not ticklish. I guess I’ll just watch.”

Haru insistently squirms out from under him, and Rin’s left gawking on the floor as Haru viciously launches a no-prisoners tickle attack on the big guy. Armpits, ribs, hips, even the vulnerable underside of Sousuke’s chin – there’s nowhere that’s safe. Sousuke tries to defend himself but it’s physically impossible to curl into a pathetic ball, hold Haru’s hands out from their bodies, and laugh hysterically at the same time. It takes him approximately a quarter of the time it took Haru to cry uncle.

“You big baby,” Haru tells him, and if Rin isn’t mistaken he’d say that’s fondness in Haru’s voice (?), and then all is confirmed. It’s Sousuke standing still, finally, still shaking and wheezing, arms dangling down like he isn’t ready to use them yet. It’s Haru cupping his face in both hands as he angles up to him. It’s the both of them, tilting their heads neatly together.

It’s not the most demonstrative hello-kiss in the world, but it’s good enough for Rin.

Makoto, finally, helps him to his feet and they both gawk silently at the improbable scene, like they’re on a nature walk and don’t want to startle the wildlife. When Haru’s finished with Sousuke he draws his hands from Sousuke’s cheeks to his chest, and gives it a little pat.

“Hi,” Sousuke says, gazing down at Haru. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

Haru just shrugs, unbothered. Rin can only nod, because damn right Haru’s a bastard, a beautiful bastard _who’s the worst communicator in the history of communication_ , and weirdly, that’s just fine. Rin called it. The living proof of the ancient power of mutual attraction and compatibility and just-plain fate is standing right there in front of them. Looking at each other with their own particular brand of puppy-dog eyes.

“So. Who’s ready for some D&D?” Sousuke finally asks with relish, and Rin prepares to sacrifice another chunk of his sanity for the wellbeing of his friends.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, Mel, I hope this silly fic has even 1/100th the DNA of the initial prompt you shared. Thank you, thank you for the brilliant idea of Sousuke as the barista, now some part of him will always be behind a counter in my mind, going for the very best latte foam art or something. Ah, Sousuke <3
> 
> This fic is also dedicated to the power of the almighty OT4. Long may it reign! And thank you for reading :)


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